


The Beginning and the End

by Emelye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The whole thing was basically a breeding program of the London Zoo. They didn’t tell people that.  If ever they were asked, they told them they were looking for a flatshare in London and, as luck would have it, John was a skilled veteran of the RAMC and Sherlock a war unto himself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning and the End

The whole thing was basically a breeding program of the London Zoo.

They didn’t tell people that. If ever they were asked, they told them they were looking for a flatshare in London and, as luck would have it, John was a skilled veteran of the RAMC and Sherlock a war unto himself. The fact that John was an alpha and Sherlock an omega didn’t even enter into it. Which was, actually, mostly true. They met in a lab at St. Bart’s and were introduced by their mutual friend Mike Stamford. The part they left out were the dozen or so other alphas and omegas milling around at the world’s oddest singles mixer while the top reproductive scientists and zoologists from three continents looked on, took notes and occasionally made introductions. 

John was flat broke and Sherlock fairly desperate not to be married off by his brother and the whole thing felt a little less dignified than speed dating. But Mike was a good man, discrete, and the way he raved about the government-run program led John to believe it wasn’t the worst way to make a few quid. 

There were approximately some twelve hundred omegas dispersed between Great Britain, America, the Netherlands, South Africa, India and China and their numbers were dwindling. Male alphas and female omegas were more frequently partnering with the much larger beta population and the recessive alpha/omega gene was gradually being bred out. Hypothetically, any alpha and omega pairing could produce an alpha or omega child, and there were at least two hundred and fifty known alpha/omega pair-bonds in the world. Unfortunately of those two hundred and fifty couples, only half were of an age to bear children, a quarter of those had already had children, most of them male alphas, and the others had not yet successfully managed to conceive. Some had no intention of doing so at all. 

It really wasn’t something the governments had the right to regulate, but there were certain evolutionary advantages present in the omega gene that the beta population had been able to take advantage of—potent antibodies and omnipotent adult stem cells resultant in a wave of treatments and cures for everything from baldness to cancer. Unfortunately while omegas could and did make a significant living donating to pharmaceutical companies, it wasn’t always enough. 

The idea was simple, really. Generous financial compensation in exchange for going off the hormone suppressants in the company of a potential mate during their heats and god willing, nine months later, a baby boom.

“Bit difficult to think about pairbonding at a time like this, Mike,” John commented, beer warming in his hand as he was introduced to omega after omega.

“Not looking for a pairbond, though, are you. Just an omega willing to let you breed them.”

John grimaced. “Don’t have to make it sound so bloody mercenary. I’m willing to see it out. I’m just trying to keep my expectations realistic. I mean, come on,” he said with a laugh. “Who’d want me for an alpha?”

Stamford gave him a considering look that John knew meant trouble. “You’re the second person who’s said that to me today.”

“Oh? Who was the first?”

 

Sherlock Holmes was tall for an omega, thin, bordering on underweight and immediately John could see why he might not be the most immediate choice for most alphas looking to breed. 

“Sherlock Holmes, meet my friend, Dr. John Watson.”

Sherlock barely looked up from his phone. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Excuse me?”

“I have no plans to breed immediately and I fully intend to continue my work regardless of my reproductive status. Does that bother you? Potential bondmates should know the best and worst about each other, don’t you think?”

John looked to Mike who confirmed, “Yeah, he’s always like that.”

 

The “breeding suites” were secure-entry suites in four and five star hotels. “Very nice,” John remarked, throwing his jacket over a chair. He found the remote and turned on the telly just as the match was coming on. “Very nice indeed,” he said, dropping into the chair and putting his feet up.

The door to the suite slammed open and the clinking of glassware announced his partner’s arrival. “Will you be needing the hair dryer? I require two burners for this experiment and it’s more convenient to use the second outlet above the sink.”

“Don’t you think you’re going to be a bit busy to be minding your chemistry set?”

Sherlock scoffed. “I’m perfectly capable of multitasking.”

John openly goggled as realization dawned. “You’ve never been through an unsuppressed heat before.”

“Of course I have. Every omega has.” John continued staring. “I may have deleted it. But the suppressants don’t entirely eradicate every symptom. How dissimilar could it be?”

John hardly knew where to begin. He was spared the trouble of a response by the knock on the door. Sherlock was far too busy with his pipettes to be bothered so John answered. Two room service carts were wheeled into the room brimming with food and two large pitchers of ice water. “Oh, right, right,” he said, thanking the attendant and moving the repast onto the small table. “Sherlock, soup’s on.”

“Hmm? Oh, not hungry.”

This was really too much. “Not hungry?” John repeated.

“Working, John, I don’t eat when I’m working.”

“Sherlock, whether you like it or not, your body is about to go into heat. Your sphincters will dilate, your glands will begin to swell and secrete lubrication at the rate of approximately seven and a half milliliters per minute. We will be shagging—and sweating—for nearly five straight days. We will each of us burn nearly thirty-six thousand calories. So, if you want to see the end of this week as anything other than a desiccated, bleeding husk in the throes of hyponatremic crisis, I suggest you put the beaker down, get your bony arse over here and eat something.” John was sure it wasn’t his imagination that Sherlock’s eyes darkened slightly as he took his seat at the table and began to pick at the potatoes. Alpha instincts be damned, John defied anyone not to want to feed that obstinate moron. Or so he told himself as he found himself continuing to put sausages on Sherlock’s plate.

“You’re not usually this domineering. Is this a biological response to my proximity or are you honestly concerned for my health?”

John sighed and dropped the fork back onto the platter. “Honestly, I’ve never been with an omega in heat before. Could be that. Could be the fact that I’m a doctor, and from a purely medical standpoint, what we’re doing is extremely dangerous and you’re an idiot.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up at that, eyes darkening further. John laughed. “Seriously? This is doing it for you? What am I saying. Of course it is, bloody great brain of yours must love it when your alpha talks science to you.”

Sherlock actually uttered a short, involuntary groan that immediately resulted in John hardening. 

“Jesus, Sherlock, that was fast. Fuck.”

Sherlock began to look slightly panicked. “John, I’m very warm. Is it very warm in here?”

John just managed to keep it together. His hands were shaking far too much to pour the water and settled for handing him the pitcher. “Here, drink this.”

He placed the condensing side of the pitcher against his head. John lowered it until Sherlock was able to take a few great gulps. “Better?” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head, fingers pulling and tugging at his shirt collar. “I can’t think like this,” he complained and began pacing anxiously, suddenly stopping in his tracks and breathing heavily, scenting the air. “I…you smell…John,” Sherlock moaned, nearly losing his feet. 

John was at his side in an instant, propping him up. “Can you walk?”

Sherlock turned his head and buried his face in John’s neck, groaning. “Oh, god.”

John grunted and lifted Sherlock into his arms, crossing the room and depositing him onto the large bed. “It’s all right, now. It’ll be alright.”

Sherlock shook in his arms and his eyes were wide with fear. “John, what’s happening to me? I need…I need…”

John’s heart sank even as his prick rose to attention in such close proximity to an omega—his omega—in heat. There would be no taking. Not with Sherlock—oh, god— _crying_ in terror in his arms as his body overrode his mind.

“Shh,” he soothed, lips pressing chastely against the damp mop of curls. Sherlock writhed against him and John bit his lip trying to restrain the impulse to rut. “It’s all right, Sherlock. This is perfectly natural and normal. I’m sure it’s a bit scary, but we’re going to get through this together, okay? Just you and me.”

Sherlock’s eyes were glassy and lust-addled as he looked up at him, his breathing slowing at last. “I feel so empty,” he confessed. “It aches.” Through his trouser leg he felt the dampness seeping from Sherlock’s rear and turned his head for a breath of air outside their cloud of pheromones while he endeavored to not think about that slick, tight heat begging for his cock.

John nodded. “I know. But it’ll pass, Sherlock. We’ve just got to wait it out.”

Sherlock keened in abject misery and John felt the pressure of frustrated tears pricking his own eyes. “Please,” Sherlock begged. “Please, fill me, John. I just need you to touch me, please. I’m begging you! I can’t bear it,” he sobbed.

The rut was coming upon him quickly and John wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to hold out if one or both of them didn’t get their end away in the next five minutes, let alone the next five days.

The danger of course, lay in pregnancy. Obviously, it was rather the point of the program, but as Sherlock had definitively stated he had no intention of becoming pregnant immediately, John could not in good conscience allow himself to violate his wishes, no matter how tempting it may be. Honestly what in the hell had he been thinking? John had assumed Sherlock was on birth control, that he would have taken some sort of precaution against pregnancy – it certainly had not occurred to him that Sherlock had intended to walk into the breeding suite sans suppressants and have simply fucking deleted any understanding whatsoever of the heat cycle or it’s physiological effects.

Coming to a decision, John lay Sherlock on the bed to muffled protests and began to undress, paying little heed to his own nudity as he went about stripping Sherlock in turn as he moaned and thrashed on the bed. “Okay, I’m going to touch you, all right? Tell me if you want me to stop and I’ll stop.”

Sherlock nodded his consent frantically. “Please, John, hurry.”

John swallowed hard and reached a hand out to Sherlock’s swollen cock, pumping twice and noting the accompanying trickle of fluid from between his buttocks. Sherlock whimpered as John’s hand left his cock, trailing down between his legs and finding his entrance. Sherlock groaned and spread his legs, presenting himself. John thought he might be going slowly mad as his finger circled the hot, puckered hole, shining slickly in the afternoon light. The smell was heady and rich and John wasted no time in bowing to impulse and burying his face between his legs, lapping at the wet entrance, covering his face in the heavenly source of that scent. Sherlock squirmed on his tongue, the muscle fluttering against John’s tongue as he circled his pucker, tongue darting out to taste and thrust inside ever so slightly. “God,” he moaned between circles of his tongue. “I could eat you for hours,” he opined, drunk on the responsive noises Sherlock made and the heady taste and scent of ripe omega.

A thread of sticky pre-cum was dangling from Sherlock’s cockhead and pooling on his quivering stomach below. “In me, please,” he begged. “I need you in me.”

John resisted the impulse as he felt his cock throb with the desire to bury his knot deep inside that body and fill it to bursting. “Not this time,” he grit out, plunging two fingers inside. Sherlock immediately began to fuck himself on those fingers, body following its basest instincts despite it’s owner’s inexperience. John felt him clenching around his fingers and smiled. “You’re beautiful, just look at you, look at how your body is taking me. One day I’m going to fill you with my knot, but not this time. Let’s just try to take the edge off this time without either of us going mad, eh? And there will be a next time because I don’t think I’ll be forgetting how you look right now as long as I’ll live. God, there’s never been an omega more beautiful. How perfect you are,” he crooned.

Sherlock took one finger after another until John’s entire hand had disappeared into that wet heat. In a rare moment of clarity they caught one another’s eye and Sherlock smiled sweetly at him, almost shyly. John’s heart nearly stopped in his chest.

They fucked that way for hours. John wringing orgasms out of Sherlock with his hands and mouth while he himself came off rutting against the bed or into his own hand. In between, he held Sherlock, gave him water, fed him as much as he was able, and encouraged him to rest, though neither of them were able to do much more than drift in an exhausted, feverish haze until the next wave took them. 

Three days passed slowly. Slowly enough that everything began taking on a surreal quality. They could no longer comprehend a life outside of the room, the bed, one another. There was only the sweat upon their skin, the food from the room service cart, the tiles of the bath the only cool respite in their world. And in the dark and heat of night they talked. 

“I wanted to join the regular army but mum wanted a doctor in the family. After Harriet dropped out of school, I couldn’t disappoint her.”

“I wanted to be a pirate.”

John laughed. “You’d have made a good one.”

Sherlock smiled. “I thought so. Mycroft didn’t. Neither did my father as it happened. I was so angry I blurted out his affair with his lab assistant over the breakfast table. It ruined my parent’s marriage. I suppose I read chemistry trying to appease them in some fashion. Not that it worked.”

“What happened?”

“I accidentally manufactured methamphetamine.”

John laughed until he began to hiccup uncontrollably.

“We’ll need a larger flat, of course.”

John sobered enough to catch Sherlock’s words. “Excuse me?”

“Please. Your bedsit is wholly depressing and my flat is far too small for a baby. Something near Regent’s Park would be convenient. I’ll make a call to someone I know.”

“You want to--I’m sorry, what? Baby?”

“Do keep up, John,” admonished Sherlock. He caught his lip between his teeth a moment, making him look the slightest bit unsure. “We’ve clearly imprinted upon one another. It would be a farce to presume you would be able to restrain yourself from breeding me during all future heats and if we’re going to produce offspring it would be best to do so while we’re, well, while _I’m_ relatively young at any rate.”

“Oh, ta,” said John airily, trying not to panic at the thought of bonding and children. “What happened to ‘no immediate plans to breed’ etcetera?”

Sherlock turned on his side to face him. “You did.”

There wasn’t much more John could say to that.

Sherlock’s phone vibrated. He reached languidly over John for his phone. “Another suicide.”

“You mean the ones in the paper?”

“They’re murders.”

“Of course they are.”

Sherlock climbed over John and rummaged through his luggage for trousers. “I need to go to the scene. You’re a doctor. In fact, you’re an army doctor.”

“Yes.”

“Any good?”

“Very good.”

“Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?”

“Well, yes.”

“Bit of trouble, too, I expect.”

“Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.”

“Want to see some more?”

John considered this man who not an hour before had been helpless and shaking under his hands, now standing there, buttoning his cuffs with utter composure, as confident as any alpha he’d ever known. A madman who solved crimes for the intellectual challenge and deleted his own biology from memory. The omega who would bear his child. His bondmate. Trusting, tenacious, gorgeous. The most perfect partner he could ever conceive of.

 

“Oh, God, _yes_.”


End file.
